


Missing in Action

by wolfiefics



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M, kinda sorta Mary Renault's universe but more RPF, mainly Ptolemy's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:12:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: During one of the battles of the Persian campaign, Hephaestion is missing. Ptolemy and Alexander look for him, dead or alive.





	Missing in Action

The battlefield was a mess, as battlefields went. Ptolemy picked his way through bodies, some moving, some not, looking for his officers and any wounded that had a hope of being saved. First priority, find the ones that have more than a good chance to live; second, save the rest if you can.

"Lord Ptolemy." The voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper in comparison to the cries of pain and anguish around him. He turned to the voice and stared down in surprise at one of Alexander's pages, Olganos, lying in the blood and the muck, a javelin sticking out of his ribcage and his thin face ashen with blood loss.

"Olganos, lie still." Ptolemy knelt down next to the page, his hands gently skimming the boy's lax body for further injuries. "Surgeon!" He stood up and bellowed, his throat, sore from shouting orders for the past several hours, rising still firm and loud to get the attention of a twitchy ferret of a man some distance away.

The surgeon hurried over, his blood-stained chiton flapping as he moved. Knobby-knees hit the packed earth next to the boy and Ptolemy watched as the surgeon began to help the boy.

"No!" The page struggled away from the administering of aid. "No, Lord Ptolemy, you don't understand, Lord Hephaestion, he -" The boy coughed, blood spattering from his lips.

Ptolemy felt his own blood rush downward from his head. "What about Lord Hephaestion?" he demanded. If something happened to Hephaestion this war would be over in a heartbeat. Nothing would stop Alexander from charging off and doing something incredibly reckless, stupid and infinitely liable to get himself killed.

Olganos winced as he struggled in the surgeon's grip. "My lord, please, he - " The boy coughed again and his arm lifted to point over a distant rise. "He went that way on foot, but he - he was injured, my lord."

Ptolemy swore long and loud. Thrice damned fool. "If the boy dies, there will be Hades to pay," Ptolemy informed the harried surgeon. "That's a cousin of Antipater."

"He won't die," the surgeon said. "The wound looks worse than it is. Hold still!" Ptolemy strode off in the direction the boy had pointed as the surgeon reprimanded the still struggling royal page.

A glint of gold distracted Ptolemy every third step. It was never Hephaestion's armor. Ptolemy never knew how common red-brown hair was until he was searching for it particularly. He look for Hephaestion's very distinctive and handsome features but considering every face was unrecognizable underneath muddied blood, dust, and various helmets and headcoverings, such a beacon was useless.

Movement from an upright person caught his attention and Ptolemy recognized Perdiccas searching the dead and wounded as well. "Perdiccas!" he shouted, waving the other man over. Perdiccas' long legs ate up the distance quickly. "Hephaestion is missing."

"Fucking Athena," blasphemed Perdiccas in a low tone. In the next twenty minutes, the two young generals had men looking everywhere for the missing Macedonian noble.

"Are you sure he's here?" Nearchus took his helmet off and wiped ineffectually at the sweat making rivulets in the grime on his square face. The officers searching congregated at the rise of the hill the young Olganos pointed out to Ptolemy.

Ptolemy shrugged. "The page Olganos said Hephaestion headed in this direction with an injury of some sort. The boy was adamant we find him." The others frowned. The page had been taken off the field some time ago. "His urgency seemed to speak of an injury Hephaestion had no business walking around with."

"Damned young fools, the lot of you," spat Cleitus in disgust. "Think you're fucking immortal."

"Do not all who are young?" joked Nearchus, trying to lighten the mood. Cleitus just glared at him.

"Someone needs to tell Alexander." Ptolemy waited on volunteers to his pronouncement, and when none volunteered, he sighed. "I am not Medusa, you know, no need to stare at me as if I've turned you into stone." They continued to stare at him, most wondering, no doubt, if he were mad. Telling Alexander that Hephaestion was missing could likely be a death sentence. "Fine. I'll do it. I've no wish to live forever anyway, and to die at the end of his sword in a royal tantrum is just as good a way to go than at the end of a Persian spear."

Ptolemy ran down the nearest horse and leapt on the mount's back. Allowing the horse to pick it's way through the debris and bodies, Ptolemy kept his eyes peeled for the telltale glint of Alexander's horse hair plumed helmet and gleaming gold and bronze armor. He tried not to think of what the king's reaction would be if Hephaestion was not found, or found dead. Which was worse, Ptolemy wasn't entirely sure, but he knew the explosion would not be a pretty sight. He remembered the last time he saw Alexander dealing with Hephaestion injured and felt sick to his stomach.

*** 

"I'm telling you, that branch just snapped!" Alexander was shouting unintelligibly and Hephaestion was matching him shout for shout. The other boys were watching the two of them as they helped Hephaestion limp back to the retreat at Mieza.

Ptolemy wasn't sure what Alexander shouted at Hephaestion but the auburn haired lad went scarlet, a sure sign of an impending and nasty explosion. Hephaestion's temper, slow to blow but impressive when it blew, was probably the only thing Alexander would consider backing down from. Ptolemy shared a worried glance with Nearchus and tensed; it was about to get ugly.

"If _you_ hadn't decided on tugging my ankles I wouldn't have jerked. If I hadn't jerked, I wouldn't have slipped!" Hephaestion rounded angrily on Alexander, who took a startled step back. 

Alexander's grey eyes jerked over Hephaestion's arm, which hung at an unnatural angle from the fall from the tree the boys had been climbing. Boys being boys and a climbable tree in their vicinity, they challenged each other to a race to the top. Hephaestion, with his long limbs and easy grace, had been in the lead until Alexander reached up to playfully tug on his friend's ankles. Now confronted with the consequences of his actions, Alexander wasn't taking it with much grace.

" _You_ should have a tighter grip in dangerous places!" Alexander shouted back, but everyone, himself included, knew it was a lame accusation. It sounded more petulant and childish with the next comment. "How are you going to stand a charging soldier with that grip? You'd drop your sword at the first clash of metal!"

Hephaestion glared at Alexander for one long moment and all the other boys were amazed that Alexander actually surrendered the staring contest. Those piercing grey eyes slid away a moment before returning to look at his close friend. "You know better than that," Hephaestion said calmly and turned to continue limping toward the small building that served as their temporary home and school.

Ptolemy felt a twinge of sympathy at Alexander's brief stricken look. He knew that the younger boy felt responsible for the injury, and in many ways it was the truth. Something passed between the two boys that caught Ptolemy off-guard as well; some emotion he couldn't name but recognized on an instinctual level.

"Well, I guess that's the first time Hephaestion has put our prince in his place," whispered Leonnatus. "I was beginning to wonder if Hephaestion was completely spineless with Alexander."

"What do you mean?" demanded Ptolemy, wondering what he was missing. Being older than the rest he often missed things that were obvious to the others, slightly set apart as he was. The others saw him as the prerequisite older brother to go to for advice, but only when needed. If Ptolemy didn't notice it or someone told him outright, he missed much by being the older 'outsider'.

Leonnatus gave him a surprised look. "You haven't noticed them mooning at each other?"

Ptolemy turned to look at Alexander, who rushed forward in deep concern when Hephaestion tripped on his unsteady legs. Hephaestion snarled when Alexander tried to dabble motheringly at some bleeding cuts on the long, coltish legs. Ptolemy's eyebrows shot up. Now that it was brought to his attention, it _was_ rather obvious; how had he missed it?

An attendant spotted the boys and rushed out to help the young Hephaestion the rest of the way. Alexander tried to hover, worrying on his lip like a dog on a bone, silent until Hephaestion was gone from sight. In a flash, the young prince turned on his companions. "Why didn't one of you catch him?"

"Us?" Nearchus stared stupidly at the golden haired boy. 

"Alexander, short of falling with him, there is no way -" Ptolemy began but Alexander lunged at him like a rabid dog. 

"Then you should have broken his fall!" Alexander's hand bunched into a fist to strike, but Ptolemy, older and more experienced in barrack fighting, caught the fist in mid-swing and shoved the smaller boy away.

"I'm not a cushion, Alexander, I'm a boy who has only a few years of age on you. Do not take your guilt out on us." Ptolemy, ever blunt, stood up to the shaking prince. He half-wondered if it was a smart thing to do. 

Alexander's mouth opened to snarl in return. "I -" He stopped and hung his head. Ptolemy waited. The youth could be reasonable if his emotions did not run away with him. Like his parents, Alexander was a creature of feeling, of emotion, acting and reacting in the moment. "You are right," the prince finally conceded, but it was obvious saying the words was like eating rancid meat, disgusting to his palate.

"Ptolemy is always right," Perdiccas stated. "Irritating but no less the truth." Everyone but Alexander and Ptolemy laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Alexander scowled and ran off in the direction that the attendants had taken Hephaestion. "What did I say?" Perdiccas looked confused.

"You're an idiot," Ptolemy told him and followed the prince at a safe distance. The others remained behind.

Ptolemy caught up to Alexander as the young prince hovered outside the room where Hephaestion was closeted with Aristotle and an attendant. "Well?"

"Hephaestion won't let me in. He told Aristotle that it was all my fault." Alexander looked furious but strangely helpless, as if at a loss what to do next. Ptolemy, used to seeing Alexander always knowing what to do, was equally at a loss.

"Shall I speak with him?"

Alexander rounded on Ptolemy, hope lighting his eyes. "Will you? He will listen to you. Everyone respects you, Ptolemy. Make him see that I am sorry."

"That," Ptolemy informed him, "is your job. I'll just make amiable enough to listen to your abject apologies and groveling for forgiveness." Alexander grimaced but nodded. Assured of Alexander's cooperation, Ptolemy sidled into the room.

Hephaestion was mutinously sitting on a bench. The arm was already set, Ptolemy saw, and Aristotle was wrapping strips of linen around the wooden splint to hold the arm stiff as it healed. The old man's scope of knowledge awed Ptolemy and he oftened wondered if he would know half of what the old philosopher did at the same age.

"He is most aggrieved," the wily old man was saying. "You know he is. He hovers outside the door, repentent and wanting your forgiveness."

Hephaestion said nothing but Ptolemy could see him waver just a moment. "Yes," the older boy agreed, causing everyone to look in his direction. "He's worrying like he's your mother, Hephaestion."

Apparently that was the bone of contention with Hephaestion, for the younger boy exploded. "Yes! I know!" he shouted at Ptolemy. "And I'm sick of it! I can't do anything that the others do, for fear of hurting myself and him hovering over me like I'm a sick dog!" Everyone took a startled step back and Ptolemy swore he heard Alexander draw a sharp breath in the hallway. "I will never be a man if he keeps holding me back!"

Alexander charged into the room and Ptolemy groaned. "I care for you! I don't want to see you hurt!"

"I'm to be a warrior, Alexander, I'll get hurt and you will too! It's the nature of war," Hephaestion growled in return. He pleaded to Aristotle. "Isn't it? A soldier will get hurt!"

Aristotle opened his mouth to reply, but how Ptolemy never did know because Alexander screamed over his beginning words. "I won't let you take that chance!"

Silence dropped on the room for a shocked moment and Ptolemy found his mouth hanging open as was everyone else's. "By Apollo, I'd like to see you stop me!" snarled Hephaestion and soon the boys were nose to nose, hashing out Hephaestion's future as if one were the parent and the other the child. Which was which confused Ptolemy and all the shouting gave him a headache.

"Enough!" Aristotle, his patience run out with the boys' petulancy, pried Alexander's hands from Hephaestion's chiton and pushed Hephaestion gently onto the bench. "Both of you will kindly lower your voices and get control of yourselves. You sound like squawling babes." Two chins set in identical firmness, causing Ptolemy to swallow a laugh. By the Gods, how had he missed this bond? It was so obvious!

Aristotle turned to Alexander first. "Prince Alexander, it is clear you hold Hephaestion in great esteem and affection, but he too will be a man like you, with his own honor and duty to his country. You have no right to keep him from this. If he chooses to be a soldier in the service of his country, you should not gainsay it. Is it not true, to a Macedonian, honor and duty above all?" Alexander looked mutinous but grunted a grudging assent. "Then let him have it. He is not an infant, he will be a man, a large statured man from the looks of him now, and a good soldier. One who will do you proud. Why do you begrudge him this?"

Alexander obviously could find no reply and turned away to stare stubbornly at the wall opposite.

Aristotle rolled his eyes heavenward and looked at Hephaestion, who was glaring at anything and everyone around him. "The prince cares deeply for you. A bit too much, in my opinion, but it is not my place to judge so. Some things are in the hands of the gods and cannot be gainsayed. Such deep emotion, such deep devotion, Hephaestion, is a rare thing. You enjoy a great privilege with it. Yes, and a burden as well. It is no easy thing to have the favor of one from so great a background but you bear it well and with good humor usually. Alexander feels guilt and responsibility for your injury. He worries that you will no longer be his friend. He worries that you will not care for him as he cares for you. He compensates this insecurity by smothering you when he feels he's wronged you. It's his way of apologizing; recognize it for what it is, lad, not for the inconvenience it gives you."

Hephaestion, always a bit more reasonable than Alexander in matters of emotion, gave the golden haired boy a long considering look. It was a long few moments before he spoke. "Is this true?" His tone was low and thoughtful.

Alexander chanced a glance at his friend as well. Another tense moment and then Alexander nodded reluctantly. Aristotle threw his hands in the air in exasperration. "Come, Ptolemy, let us leave these two fools to it." 

Ptolemy turned to leave, grinning inwardly but outwardly calm. It would only cite someone into a fresh round of shouting if they saw he was amused. 

"If I hear one more raised voice from this room, I will confine Hephaestion to his room for two days with no visitors and only his studies. You, Alexander, will be confined to anywhere but here." Aristotle's voice brooked no denial. "Hephaestion, I also expect you in your bed in a few minutes. You need to sleep to begin to heal."

"Yes, sir." Both boys' agreement, calmly given, seemed to satisfy the old man, and Ptolemy was herded the rest of the way out of the room. 

"Thank the gods you have a good head on your shoulders, Ptolemy, but what in the name of Athena had you boys climbing trees? Think you were birds, did you?" Aristotle's tone should have been rebuking but instead it was more amused.

"A race," Ptolemy answered matter-of-factly. "Hephaestion was winning -"

"I care to hear no more, if you please." Aristotle raised his hand to ward off further explanation. "You Macedonians are a strange lot, but never dull. Tell the others to join me in the courtyard. We have studies to do." The philosopher raised his voice briefly. "You will be there in a half an hour, yes, Alexander?"

"Yes, Aristotle," answered Alexander from within.

Ptolemy grinned. "He's like his mother."

"Not a great compliment, that," Aristotle rebuked. "He's too protective by half. What will happen should Hephaestion die in a battle, if Alexander loves him that deeply and without control, Ptolemy? If he is king?"

****

It was a question that now haunted Ptolemy as he rode the horse over to where he finally spotted Alexander, now a king, speaking with a young soldier who was struggling to his feet. Alexander looked like he'd massacred the entire Persian army on his own. Ptolemy looked positively clean next to the younger man.

Sighing heavily, dreading the reaction and the consequences, Ptolemy nevertheless did his duty. "Alexander, we must speak."

Alexander looked up, nodded, and said a few more words to the young soldier, who suddenly glowed with pride. Ptolemy grimaced. Normally, he would have approved of such a sight, but now, it only made him more weary and wary. This was not going to be easy.

"Well, Ptolemy, you made it. Thais would have run me through with her own dagger if you had not." Alexander's easy smile was so at odds with his appearance but Ptolemy refused to be distracted. Better to get the ordeal over.

"We can't find Hephaestion." Bluntness had always been Ptolemy's way, but this time he took several steps back. Just in case.

The change over Alexander was instaneous. "He has to be around here somewhere." Ptolemy wasn't fooled by the calm outward demeanor. His warrior's instincts had gone on overdrive. Alexander was dangerous right now, a coiled snake ready to strike and Ptolemy did not relish being in the vicinity.

"We've looked for over a half an hour in the last location he was seen. He's with no one and he cannot be -"

"If you say it, you die." The words were spoken low, but fierce.

Ptolemy sighed. "Not saying the words doesn't make it less true, Alexander."

Despite his mental and physical preparation for Alexander's reaction, he still wasn't ready for it when it came. Before Ptolemy could blink and draw a breath he was off the horse and being slammed into the ground. "NO!" Alexander's shout echoed over the sea of bodies. The sword at Ptolemy's throat glinted dully, it's shining brilliance dimmed by the caked blood on it. "I would know. Now FIND HIM!"

The sword was removed from his throat and Ptolemy took a breath, reassuring himself he could still do it. He gingerly got to his feet and watched as his king began rolling over every body he came across that was obviously not Persian.

"You have that bond with him, you have a better chance at locating him." Ptolemy tried reason, only to find himself on his back in the dust yet again, Alexander snarling in his face.

"I know he's not dead, so stop mewling like an infant and FIND HIM!"

"Will you just slit my throat and end this? We can't find him. Look at this battlefield, Alexander. We've looked where he was last spotted by one of your pages. No one else spotted him elsewhere later than that. We've turned over every body we can find. We've got people searching the hospital tents. We've shouted until our voices are hoarse and he's not answered." 

Alexander gave him a warning look and Ptolemy held himself still. It was like facing down a wild animal while unarmed; you just had to make no sudden moves.

The sword moved from his throat and a hand swam into Ptolemy's line of sight. Ptolemy caught it and was hauled to his feet. "Where was he seen last?" The question was hoarse, gruff.

Mounted, the two men picked their way to where the searchers were gathered, discussing their next move. Hephaestion was important officer and a noble of the court, so the search for him was of importance more than just because Alexander favored him. Hephaestion's family was of importance in Macedonian politics and nobility. As the only heir of the family's line, that made Hephaestion important period.

Alexander found himself distracted by every movement at his feet. Some soldiers still alive and on the battlefield recognized their king and, unable to deny his men anything, even if it meant he stopped looking for the man that was his very breath, Alexander offered solace, comfort or praise to each one. He asked each one if they'd seen Lord Hephaestion. Each one answered negatively or only that he'd been fighting over on the ridge once dismounted. 

Each step the ridge was agony for the young king. His Hephaestion could be dead over there, overlooked and unnoticed. The kites, already feasting on the dead and dying, could be tearing out his entrails as Alexander dithered. A litany, familiar and aching, beat a thrumming tattoo in his head and his heart: "I never should have let him be a soldier."

He knew it was not his right to make such a decision, but Alexander felt an unreasonable fear each time they readied themselves for battle. He would always memorize Hephaestion's expression just before they charged, wondering if it was the last time he'd see that suppressed excitement and surge of bloodlust in his lover's eyes again. War and battle deepened Hephaestion's eyes from warm golden brown to fathomless black much like love, like passion did. Alexander always wondered if he would see that look ever again. Again and again, the litany pounded in his body, marching through his soul. How often did he beg the gods to let him die first, spare him the agony of knowing he would never have Hephaestion at his side again?

The feel of Hephaestion's skin, his mouth, the rough stubble of an unshaved cheek or chin, against his own, how could he live without that? Alexander remembered the first time they'd loved when Hephaestion's beard was coming to him. It left red marks on Alexander's skin, where Hephaestion teasingly rubbed his cheek a bit too hard on soft inner thighs. Hephaestion had delighted in the tormented look on Alexander's face. It was the only power over Alexander Hephaestion found any satisfaction in. The only power Hephaestion sought at all, the sexual torment he could deliver. Neither man tired of it.

A sob tore at Alexander's throat and he saw Perdiccas glance in concern at him. The young general had already reorganized a search team and everyone was spread out, combing the area, carefully checking everyone that seemed remotely likely to be Hephaestion. 

"Al-esk-andr." The voice was a gravelly Persian accent and Alexander looked down to find a Persian foot soldier blinking in the sun, looking directly at him. The Greek was rough, barely understandable, but Alexander recognized his name. "You ... seek ... officer?"

Alexander immediately squatted next to the man. Slowly he replied in as basic a schoolboy Greek as he could get, so the man could understand him. "Yes. If you can help me, I will do all to save you."

Deep brown eyes, filled with pain and defeat, met grey. The Persian coughed and the movement showed Alexander that he was more than just a soldier; he too was an officer of the Persian army. A shaking arm pointed further into the distance. "There. He ... follow ... my ... lord -"

Alexander, who had been looking in the direction the man pointed, was startled by the abrupt end of speech. He looked down in time to see life ebb from the brown eyes and death rattle the man's throat. Without further reaction, Alexander stood, stepped over the body and went in the direction the dead man had pointed.

Perdiccas and Ptolemy both noticed Alexander's change in direction at the same time. Ptolemy caught up with Perdiccas when they were halfway caught up to the king, who was striding with long steps around the carnage. "Do you think he found something?" asked Perdiccas. They stopped to look at the dead Persian Alexander spoke to and continued on.

"I would say it's a good bet to make, yes," Ptolemy replied. "Hurry, he's starting to run!" Both men fell into an easy lope, the pace eating the distance between themselves and their king, that is until Alexander broke into a dead run. "By Hathor's tits!" blasphemed Ptolemy, using his favorite epithet learned in Egypt.

Over the rise, the distant sounds of fighting could barely be heard. Both men looked at each other in amazement, turned as one and let out bellowed war cries. Their swords slid from the scabbards and they rushed right behind their king. As they crested the hill, they saw Alexander skidding down the steep embankment, sanding kicking up behind him. In the waves of heat, both men could see several groups still engaged in fighting.

They'd found Hephaestion.

****

Alexander's heart pound a steady tattoo. Of course, Hephaestion would still be fighting. It's not like he would die without Alexander's knowledge. Hephaestion was a soldier and Alexander should have known better. Sure enough, Alexander saw Hephaestion's shield, the distinctive sunburst of the Macedonian royal house emblazoned on it, flashing in the sunlight. Yet as Alexander's dead run closed the distance, the seconds slowed as if seen through a dream.

The sword came down, Hephaestion did not duck in time, and the mouth Alexander loved to kiss opened in a cry of pain. Enraged, Alexander picked up his pace and crashed into Hephaestion's opponent with the force of a small gale wind. Both of them went head over feet, but Alexander rolled to a standing position and hacked the man to peices in a fury.

This man hurt his Patroklus. This man _dared_ to injure his Hephaestion, his loyal, stubborn, brave, willful, beautiful Hephaestion.

"Alexander!" Hands pulled at him, but Alexander tore away and went to the next Persian struggling to escape. Word quickly spread to the Greek soldiers fighting in the area that their king had come for them. The fighting renewed with furious energy. The remaining Persians turned and fled, but many did not get far.

Seeing all was taken care of, Alexander spun back to Hephaestion and fell to his love's side, breathing hard. Hephaestion was lying on the ground, grinning hugely at him, blood seeping from two wounds, one in the arm and one, from the looks of things, in the side. 

"You fool," was all Hephaestion could say before he sagged into unconsciousness.

Alexander blinked at the mild rebuke, so jokingly said. " _I'm_ a fool!" he shouted in surprise at the unconscious man beside him. "You - you - the gods curse me with you, do you know that, Hephaestion?"

He heard a huffing laugh behind him and felt Ptolemy's hands pull him up. "Out of the way, Alexander, or he'll bleed Persia red." 

Alexander stumbled backward, tripping over the corpse of the dismantled Persian who'd struck Hephaestion the wound to his arm. In a fit of mild tantrum, Alexander kicked the body for good measure. He started to follow, opening his mouth to rebuke Ptolemy and Perdiccas' rough handling of Hephaestion's limp form when he heard Ptolemy say, "If he finds out you've been mothering him while he's unconscious, I'm turning him loose on you - " Ptolemy paused. "- And I'm telling Aristotle you've not learned your lesson about Hephaestion living his own life."

Alexander growled something that Ptolemy and Perdiccas both laughed at. "Be careful with him, at least, you'll just make it worse."

"Yes, King Alexander."

"We hear and obey, King Alexander."

"Shut up, both of you. Watch it!" 

Perdiccas and Ptolemy sighed as one as they placed Hephaestion on a shield large enough for his long, rangy form. "You could help, you know, if you're determined to be a pest about this." Making light of it was the only way Ptolemy had of disarming Alexander's frustration. Alexander quickly made his way to the shield and together the three men hoisted it aloft and carted it away.

"Why do you think he gave chase?" asked Perdiccas once they'd made the first rise.

Ptolemy shrugged. "Who knows what maggot gets into Hephaestion's head? He's worse than Alexander here when it comes to such notions."

Perdiccas grunted agreement. "Yes, I suppose that what you get when you share sheets. You start picking up each other's bad habits."

"Do you seek to rile me on purpose?" snapped Alexander, watching his footing and clenching his teeth each time he heard a gasp or a sigh from the man on the shield above them.

"No, we seek to humble you into silence. Is it working?"

"Shut up, Ptolemy."

"Yes, Alexander."

"I know you aren't serious when you speak to me as if I'm a boy."

"To me, you'll always be Philip's whelp of a son whose snot nose I wiped every winter." 

"How gracious of you."

"Will ... you ... shut up so I ... can pass out ... in peace?" Hephaestion's weak voice drifted to them.

"Why don't you pass out like any mere mortal, already?" asked Perdiccas, amused by it all despite himself. "We've just spent the past hour or so looking for your blasted corpse and you haven't even bothered to oblige us with one."

"With ... your useless ... chatter ... I'm well on ... my way," was the answer.

Alexander answered flatly, "That's not the least bit amusing."

"You never ... had a sense ... of humor when ... it came to ... me anyway."

Ptolemy groaned. "If you two start fighting like a married couple out here in the middle of the thrice damned desert, I'm dropping this shield and leaving you to it. I don't care who's bleeding where and from what wounds." Ptolemy glanced at Alexander and relaxed. In spite of himself, Alexander was staring up at the limbs dangling from the shield and a small smile twitched at his lips. "You two are more hopeless than Thais and I," he murmured.

"Isn't that the gods' truth?" Perdiccas agreed, equally low in tone. Alexander and Hephaestion only sighed in response.

"At least I found him," Alexander finally said as they got closer to where the surgeons worked.

" _You_ found him?" Ptolemy snorted.

"He ... did." Hephaestion's voice was stronger but no less disjointed by the jostling of the three men moving around the battlefield carnage. "I felt ... certain that he would ... when I realized that no ... no one knew where we ... were. I called ... to him."

"Epic," commented Peridiccas.

"Homeric."

"That's my Patroklus." Alexander sounded arrogant but Ptolemy didn't bother to turn to look.

"I'd box your ears if I didn't think I'd get stoned for treason or something," Ptolemy threatened without rancor.

"As if you ever let that stop you," challenged Alexander.

"You found him!" 

"Lord Hephaestion lives?"

Shouts from around them rose in chorus and the king and his two generals reassured everyone that Lord Hephaestion, while seriously wounded, was indeed alive and not wounded enough to not expect a recovery. After that, things were taken from their hands and Hephaestion was whisked into the hands of healers and surgeons.

Ptolemy watched Alexander's expression as he watched Hephaestion taken away on his stretcher/shield. "Remind you of that tree fall at Mieza?"

"What?" Distracted Alexander turned to look at his old friend in puzzlement.

"Remember how you tried to mother him and he kept snapping at you like an angry dog? Or the way Aristotle rebuked you both for young fools." Ptolemy chuckled and clapped his king companionably on the back. "Somethings never change. Go with him."

Alexander paused then shook his head. "He won't thank me and I have men to see to, details to arrange." Ptolemy smiled to himself; the king learned control after all. "He will live?"

"You tell me." At that moment, Hephaestion bellowed, "By Hades you will _not_ put that shit on me!"

Alexander laughed. "With a throat that full of venom for surgeons? Yes, he'll live."

"Just don't forget to love him."

"Yes, Ptolemy."

"Whelp."

"You made me what I am today, Ptolemy."

"I never! Shoot me with fire arrows if it's true. Gods, what a legacy I've created if the world thinks so." Alexander laughed, the sound was full of relief, revealing just how deeply he'd felt worry. 

"Truly, if he'd been killed, Ptolemy, I would have known," Alexander confessed, still watching Hephaestion arguing with the surgeon in the distance.

Ptolemy looked long and hard at his king. "I know. That's why I felt confident enough to approach you. If he had been dead, I wouldn't have had to be there to tell you he was missing."

"I love him."

"Gods, don't tell _me_ that! Tell _him_ that!"

Alexander turned away. "I will. Everyday for the rest of our lives. May Zeus make it long."

"Even if it isn't, live and love it well. That's what Thais tells me."

"Wise words, for Thais, the woman of emotion."

"Says the king of emotion."

"And it's all for the bellowing bull over there."

**Author's Note:**

> This was also written in 2006. It's more RPF than fan fiction of Mary Renaul't s trilogy though. As with my other Alexander fan works this was written under the penname Bagoas Alexandros, which I don't use anymore.


End file.
